


The English Patient

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: My Family (And Other Dinosaurs) [33]
Category: Primeval
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-01
Updated: 2009-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3269753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liz is sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The English Patient

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telperion_15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/gifts).



> Belatedly for telperion_15’s birthday; she prompted me Lester/Lyle, Liz/Juliet, cooking dinner, but I’m afraid it’s rather more on the latter than the former... Ditzy and Lyle are fredbassett’s.

            Juliet knocked smartly on the door, which was opened by Lester mere moments later. “Juliet,” he said, with a surprisingly warm smile, and then to her mother, “oh, it’s you again; can’t keep you out, can we? Dear me. I wonder if I should call security?”

 

            “Get stuffed, James!” Emily Sayers said brightly, bouncing into the flat ahead of her daughter and kissing Lester on both cheeks. “Where’s the delectable Jon?”

 

            Juliet winced unsubtly, and sidled past her mother into the flat, toeing off her shoes and slipping them into the rack by the door. She wasn’t unaware that Jon Lyle was a good-looking man, not unfanciable, but he’d elevated himself to the role of Parent, Totally Off-Limits, Ew in her mind when she realised he was as good as Liz’s stepfather.

 

            “The delectable Jon is cooking,” Lester said, chivalrously taking Emily’s coat. “I can think of nothing more calculated to make Liz fret, which can’t be good for her, but she’s tough. Are you sure you want to take your life in your hands?”

 

            “It can’t be that bad,” Emily protested, kicking off her shoes, one of which narrowly missed a stylish and undoubtedly expensive Finnish glass vase. Lyle shouted something about six points only and a miss being as good as a mile from the kitchen.

 

            Juliet slipped off to Liz’s room, sparing a wave for Lyle – presiding over something bubbling away on the hob with poise, flair and an apron that said KISS THE COOK – as she went. Her mother clearly hadn’t noticed the stain on the ceiling from the last time Jon had tried to cook; to be fair, they’d repainted within the week, but it _was_ the last in a long line of incidents that had led Liz to declare the kitchen perpetually off-limits to Lyle unless he wanted his arse handed to him.

 

            She pushed the door open gently, and got a croaked questioning noise. “It’s me, Liz.”

 

            “Ju,” Liz murmured through a scratchy throat, and reached out for her, feebly.

 

            Juliet smiled, and shut the door softly, going over to sit on the bed beside Liz and brush her dark hair off her face. “You look like shit, buttercup.”

 

            Liz summoned up a scowl. “We talked about this, Ju, pet names are Jon and Dad’s thing, it’s just weird.”

 

            “I know, I know. Butterfly.”

 

            Liz made a strangled noise, somewhere between a squawk and a wheeze, and pillowed her head on Juliet’s thigh. “Now you’re taking the piss.”

 

            “Yup. I’ll stop, if you like.” Juliet kissed her forehead.

 

            “I do like... Be careful. Don’t want you to-” Liz burst into a round of coughing, and curled up tightly, angling her face away from Juliet. Juliet stroked her back softly; Liz was wearing nothing more than a pair of knickers and a thin cotton shirt, it appeared, and Juliet could feel the clammy, feverish heat of her skin through her shirt. She dipped her fingers in the glass of water languishing on Liz’s bedside table and smoothed them over the back of her neck and her forehead.

 

            “Catch it?” Juliet supplied. “I think I’ve already had it, Liz. This is like what I had two weeks ago, except I didn’t try to work through it, unlike someone not a million miles away.”

 

            “Should’ve seen me yesterday,” Liz croaked, relaxing slowly.

 

            “Mm. Simon tells me it was spectacular.”

 

            Liz gave a hacking laugh. “Just Simon?”

 

            “Well, no; Simon, Liam, Amandeep, the whole bunch.” Juliet straightened the sheet slightly; it had got twisted and pulled and was about to come off the corner of the mattress. “Is it true you fainted into Madison Oppenheimer’s lap?”

 

            “Yeah.” Liz’s hand crept up to touch the bruise on her forehead; Madison had been sitting at a desk at the time, all ready for her Geography lesson, and Liz’s fainting into her lap had actually been the result of Liz fainting onto the edge of the desk and bouncing off. “Passed out before I heard her screech, though.”

 

            “I’m not surprised. They called an ambulance, you know.” Juliet combed her fingers through Liz’s hair. “You worried me. And you freaked Simon out, but, well, Simon.”

 

            Simon was Liz’s oldest friend, and – as Juliet knew – Liz’s first foray into kissing, which had ended with the mutual agreement that Liz was better off with girls (even if it was a deadly secret at the time). He had the remarkable quality of being steady as a rock while acting as if he was knocked off course by any little thing, and the cure for his dramatic flailing and hysterics was generally a cigarette and an injunction to pull himself together.

 

            Liz chuckled scratchily. “Yeah. Simon. Who cares, anyway? Just something else for them to talk about.” She flopped onto her back and accepted some water from the glass on her bedside table, which cleared her voice a little. “I mean. Like. About me. And also probably you.”

 

            “Hmm.” Juliet ran a thumb over Liz’s lower lip, and got a lazy, dazed smile in return. “I don’t know what you’re on, but it’s certainly making you interesting to talk to.”

 

            “I don’t know either. Ditzy gave it to me. Ditzy – friend of Jon’s. Medic.” Liz closed her eyes. “He informs me that I can drink alcohol with whatever it is. Should I so wish.” She covered her mouth and coughed, chest heaving. “It brings down the fever but I say weirder things – can I, more water?... Thanks... Weirder things than I did before.”

 

            “I can tell,” Juliet said, when what she really wanted to say was ‘sweetheart, you’re seriously ill, go to sleep already’. “Are we eating whatever poison Jon’s cooking up, by the way?”

 

            Liz shifted, and let out a snort. “What? No. He said he’d make soft-boiled eggs and toast, suitable for an invalid. Apparently his mother swears by it.”

 

            “Huh.” Juliet allowed herself to collapse onto one elbow, carefully not pressing against Liz where it might be too much heat, or too uncomfortable. “Cool.”

 

            “No, hot,” Liz said, smirking.

 

            Juliet rolled her eyes, and allowed a hand to slide onto the bare skin of Liz’s stomach. “You? Yes. And in more than just the metaphorical sense.” She pressed her lips to Liz’s hair, and smiled as Liz murmured something quiet and meaningless, fingers grasping restlessly at Juliet’s, eyes half-closed. “Go to sleep, Liz. I’ll wake you when it’s dinnertime.”

 


End file.
